Exclusive Exceptions
by kestrelcadiz
Summary: Tom's plans had been moving very well, of late. With only months 'til the elections, he and Harry had managed to drum up a massive amount of support for their party and were moving into the final stages. Better, Harry had seen sense and given up dating those air-headed bints in favour of Tom himself. Which would be brilliant if he could think about something other than their kiss.


**Disclaimer**: Not only are these characters not mine, not even this version of these characters are mine. They belong to JK Rowling and The Fictionist, respectively.

This is based off The Fictionist's brilliant story, Fate's Favourite. I strongly recommend anyone who opens this story should read that first, and experience Tom Riddle and Harry Potter at their wittiest and snarkiest as they try to convert each other to their way of thinking, while dealing with modern day Voldemort. I mean, what else would you expect from a young Dark Lord stalking the Boy-Who-Lived through time?

My story should only be read as an accompaniment to that one, specifically set after the chapter Logical Considerations.

* * *

**Exclusive Exceptions**

* * *

Tom couldn't stop thinking about the kiss from earlier. Or rather his own reaction to the kiss with Harry. It was very distracting, actually, which was very unusual for him.

It was the logical option for Harry to date him rather than those airheaded, nice girls he tended to go after. Tom was always looking after Harry, fixing him when he broke, and tempering him like a steel blade. Honestly, their focus was intense enough he was still surprised whenever Harry declared he was dating again. That was just how their relationship worked, and now that included his love life. It was only logical.

Still, he hadn't expected to enjoy kissing Harry. At least not that much. It was exploring an aspect of Harry that he hadn't yet, cataloguing how he reacted to particular stimuli, with the added benefit of keeping Harry happy. Perhaps even a new power over him too. A perfect solution, definitely interesting, enjoyable in its own way. Again, logical.

But then, just the memory, the wet velvet texture of Harry's tongue against his, the sharp pain as Harry bit back, the way Harry moaned when he brushed the top of his mouth…

Tom shuddered. Then snarled as he realised he was once more thinking of the kiss. How could one kiss be so distracting? Or arousing? He had kissed others, fucked others before, if only to see what it was like. Sex was pleasurable at the time, but once he was sated it no longer held any appeal, and he certainly didn't get distracted, hours later, by mere _memories_ of the act. So why was this single kiss from Harry all he could focus on?

Probably _because_ it was Harry. Logic broke down and was sent away for therapy when it met Harry. His plans always came away twisted when it came to him. Tom always had said that normal conventions didn't apply to them. How else could two people so fundamentally different become best friends? Already their entire worlds revolved around each other. No one knew Harry better than Tom, and Harry understood him better than any other person he had ever met. They complimented each other, guarded each other, fought and sharpened themselves on each other. It was true that if he were ever to fall in love someone it would be Harry.

He did love Harry, as much as someone clinically diagnosed with a lack of empathetic emotion could love another. Now he wanted Harry too.

Tom sighed. He couldn't focus like this. Why was Harry so much more distracting when he wasn't there?

* * *

Tom was often appreciative of his imagination. A combination of accurate observations, deductions and conjecture meant he was rarely wrong when it came to predicting and anticipating his enemies and allies. Having a good imagination was highly useful when it came to strategizing and lateral thinking, often allowing him to be entire games ahead of his opponents. He'd also found it very useful in trying to predict and anticipate Harry, who had a habit of thinking and behaving so far outside the box he was in another metaphor.

Yes, he'd always enjoyed having a good imagination.

He felt it was highly unfair that it was being used to torture him.

Of course, Harry had no idea, which just made it worse, and in no way absolved him of responsibility for this state of affairs. He could have gotten past this if it was intentional, could have fought back.

It had been three days since they'd officially started dating, which in practical terms meant interspersing banter with kissing whenever they were alone. Harry was incredibly nervous about going any further, though he was faking casual almost better than ever, and really Tom was fine with that. Harry would set the pace in this relationship, now that Tom had established one. He was the one least comfortable, having only dated women, whereas Tom had experimented with both sexes and long since come to the conclusion they were both boring. He'd said it before, Harry _was_ his preference, and Tom had come to terms with the fact that if he was ever to have a relationship past platonic it would be with Harry.

So waiting for Harry to come to terms with the fact that his own preference was Tom, regardless of orientation, should have been easy. Especially since there was no chance of some airheaded bint moving in and disrupting them.

It was not.

Want, want, want.

It was always there now, and it was transforming even Harry's most banal actions into something suggestive, fuelling his already hyperaware imagination.

Harry caught his gaze as they listened to the speaker drone on and on, something he was listening to with half an ear, drearily boring, but Huxley could be a strong ally in the short term. Harry looked as bored as he felt, barely masked behind polite attention, and rolled his eyes for a second in frustration before turning back. And already his imagination was working, wondering suddenly important questions like would Harry's eyes roll up like that during orgasm, too caught up in his own pleasure? His cheeks flushed, slightly sweaty, moaning breathlessly as Tom fucked him. Or would his eyes widen, catch his own, unable to look away? Images flickered through his mind of the exact scenes, before being forcefully banished.

Tom glowered at the table top, nearly growling when he saw phantom images of himself pinning Harry to it. Stupid libido. Stupid imagination.

Stupid accidentally sensual, coquettish Harry.

And now he was thinking in simple terms, which was even worse.

At least he could banish those fantasies, and focus on the world around him. Much worse was the dream. Which he would think of no further. Not now, when he was making the final steps in such a long dance to power. He would not allow himself to be _distracted_ by Harry.

It was extremely unfair, something he didn't wish to examine the irony of. Until he'd kissed Harry, he'd barely even had a libido, but now the possibility of Harry was there it wouldn't stop whacking the back of his head for attention.

The meeting ended soon after, and Tom apparated home, quickly followed by Harry, who was still absolutely oblivious.

"-so it's probably a good idea to follow up, even if he did take the most tedious way possible to-"

Tom silenced him with his mouth, slipping his tongue between Harry's still parted lips. Harry, to his credit, objected for no longer than a millisecond before enthusiastically reciprocating.

Shifting, he slid his hand under Harry's shirt, to brush on the skin of his stomach. Harry, moaned, pressing closer and trying to take control of the kiss, before freezing and jerking away. Wide eyed, he swallowed, tried to stammer something, before darting away to the relative safety of his room.

Skittish Harry.

Want, want, want.

He had decided the best solution, both to his unusual fixation around kissing Harry and the fantasies now plaguing his excellent imagination, was in fact repeated exposure to Harry. And it did work. Already, he could feel his thoughts falling into more normal channels, thinking of the plans, methods, aims, instead of merely lust. Some of his thoughts weren't even Harry-centric, so nearly back to normal. It didn't hurt that Harry was becoming more accustomed to sexual touch between them either.

All in all, a satisfactory solution. But not fast enough. He was definitely going to start flustering Harry more often. He wasn't sure how long he could keep his own promise to move at Harry's rate.

* * *

Harry was rather introspective as they left the Ministry Ball.

Tom, his lips still buzzing from contact with Harry's, nearly sighed.

To be honest with himself, that was expected. Harry had accepted that they were now publically dating with the same equanimity he did the rest of their public interactions, and, if Tom was judging right, was probably a little relieved to have it out in the open. It was part of the reason they were such a good team.

He walked to the kitchen, and filled the kettle.

"Tea?" he called out.

"Uh, yes please. One sugar." Came the absentminded reply. Tom set about finding two mugs, adding two extra spoons of sugar to Harry's. Harry always said he wanted one when he meant three. As though Tom would judge him for indulging in sugar.

Harry didn't speak until a few minutes later, after he'd drained about half the cup.

"I think we need to talk about this dating thing." Harry glanced up. Tom nodded for him to continue. "Specifically, how much it should intertwine with our regular confrontations."

Tom raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his own tea. He had expected doubt, perhaps anger. A step backwards, recalcitrance, now that they were out of the public eye. Really, they had been dating for weeks now and they'd gotten no further than snogging and some light groping. Something was holding Harry back, some caution he wouldn't admit. Probably something about virtue, or the fact that they were both males.

"You want boundaries. Limitations." He stated. Harry met his eyes, his own expression serious, and nodded, before looking back into his teacup. "Elaborate them."

"I'm not saying we should keep things completely separate. That would be impossible. I just-" he hesitated, flicking his eyes back up. "I don't want us to use dating or sex against each other. I don't think this could work otherwise."

With that said, he stared earnestly at Tom, tea forgotten. As if he was trying to impress his way of thinking on Tom's very psyche. Tom nearly sighed. He thought he'd trained Harry out of that particular habit. It might work on his Gryffindors, but next to no one else, least of all him.

"Sweetheart, you honestly believe I'd use pillow talk against you? Your lack of trust in me is astounding!"

Harry snorted, blushing a little.

"I've met you. Dating you hasn't turned me stupid."

Tom grinned, before turning serious again. They didn't often use the big issues against one another, even in their more bitter fights, out of courtesy and a desire not to permanently injure each other. Unethical and amoral as he was, there were some things, some manipulations he just wouldn't use. Not against Harry. It was a case of the loss being in no way close, let alone equal or lesser, to the gains.

Everything smaller was fair game, though. And in the past he had often used Harry's girlfriends or dating habits to get the upper hand, when he wasn't trying to remove them. Harry's concern was warranted, he supposed.

"You didn't answer my question."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Honestly? Yes. I don't think you'd publish in the Daily Prophet or anything,-" Tom remembered with vitriol one of Harry's past girlfriends who had done just that. Her punishment had been rather enjoyable. "-but you'd definitely use sex as a tool against me, like-" Harry paused, looking a little flustered. "Like using, er, pleasure for extortion. And I'd end up trying to do the same to you. I think that would come between us, and destroy any relationship we had."

Tom nodded. What Harry essentially wanted was a guarantee of trust. It was true, after all, that lack of trust had been one of the biggest causes of Harry's breakups in the past seven years or so, right behind Tom himself. Sex and dating relied a lot more on long term trust than the rest of their interactions, the long term kind of trust they shared instead of the short term kind they both lacked. He trusted Harry with his life, literally in the case of his Horcrux. But from day to day, and especially in their games, neither of them could afford to show weakness and trust the other to do what they wanted without an assurance. Instead they fought, struggled, bargained.

Should their relationship be placed in that category, above games and fights, or was it fair game? Could it, even? He didn't believe they would be able to separate their lives that much, at least not for long. It was something he had been wondering himself for a while. This was almost definitely the issue that had been holding Harry back.

There was a definite possibility of Tom using sex to extort a reaction or compliance with one of his own plans, Harry too, to a lesser extent. At least, he would if Tom did. And he had no illusions as to what would happen next should he prove successful. But what if Harry won first? Thinking on his own abnormal reactions to kissing Harry so far, he wouldn't mind a safety net, at least until he had this under control.

Eventually, of course, they'd start trying to manipulate each other through sex, sooner rather than later. It was guaranteed. Power plays were practically how they showed affection.

But he'd let Harry live in his own little bubble of denial. At least until he was gasping for a fresh breath and only his own rule held him back.

Limitations. Hah.

"Okay." He said and took a sip of tea. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Okay?"

"Yes, I agree."

"You agree to what? That you would use sex against me, or that it would come between us?"

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Both. But more specifically, I agree to placing a restriction against using our love lives in our regular interactions. To be reviewed at a later point. Really, dearest, you can be so slow sometimes."

"Oh. Well, good. Actually I'd been expecting a little more struggle than that."

"Well maybe if you had bright ideas more often that wouldn't be a problem."

Harry scowled.

"Shut up, Tom." Tom only smirked. They finished their tea in silence. Harry stood, gathering the mugs to rinse, and Tom wandered to the doorway to wait. He didn't speak until Harry had placed both mugs on the drying rack by the sink.

"Although, I feel I must mention this won't prevent me bartering kisses, control or sex as rewards and prizes." Couldn't give up everything, after all.

Harry's eyes widened as he blushed, but he gave a confident smirk.

"Of course not! I thought that went without saying." Harry stepped closer, pulling him into a chaste kiss, before grinning, dancing away towards his room. "What would be the point of dating, otherwise?"

Tom nearly snarled, catching Harry again and giving him a proper kiss. This one didn't break apart for several minutes, and although many adjectives could be used to describe it, chaste was not one. Harry, now flushed and panting a little bit pulled away first. Again. With a quick "Goodnight, Tom." he ducked into his room. Again.

Tom sighed. Harry was bound to get over his anxiety about going any further soon, something Tom would happily help along.

But he was really getting bored with being patient.

Ignoring the humming of the bond, and the burning of his lips and tongue, Tom turned to his own room.

* * *

He wasn't quite sure how it started, exactly.

For weeks now they had been casually snogging in the privacy of their flat, and since the public announcement, outside it too. It was best to stake a claim like dating Harry Potter in the visibility of the public once in a while. It prevented others from developing egregious ideas. Tom had decided against pushing Harry any further, despite his own want. Harry was still skittish about the idea of sex, even though he was much more relaxed since their talk about boundaries. It wasn't going to be long now until he gave in, but the next move was still Harry's. Tom knew the best way to help him make that move was not through pressuring, but by luring. Seducing.

Teasing.

Tom was generous enough to provide.

He had watched smugly as Harry's eyes would glaze over mid-meeting after Tom gave him a particularly lascivious look. Harry would stutter suddenly, as Tom elegantly wrapped his tongue around a fork at a luncheon. Even the seemingly innocent caress of his fingers over the table caused a blush that Harry struggled to explain to Granger. Harry, of course, realised the sudden seduction was quite intentional, and would spend a great deal of time glaring angrily at him or whispering harshly that "This is neither the place or time for this.". Tom would simply raise an eyebrow in some parody of innocence, as if to say "For what?" and the flustered wizard would huff, before turning to sulk until Tom next caught his attention.

He thought it was completely justified revenge for all of the unintentional teasing Harry had been putting him through in the past few weeks.

Now, though...

It had started out innocent enough, both fighting for dominance, control of the kiss. Tom had the advantage of size and strength but that had never stopped Harry before. Grasping the hair at the nape of his neck he pulled sharply, drawing a gasp from Harry that quickly became a hum at he bit and kissed down his jaw. Harry had tilted his head to expose more of his neck to Tom's teeth and tongue, then forced Tom away, meeting his mouth once more.

But something had changed.

Intangible, yet palpable. Some new confidence in Harry's kiss, the surety of his roaming hands. Surprised, Harry had gained control of the kiss completely, pushing forwards until the back of Tom's legs hit the sofa. At that point, Tom twisted them.

Harry, eyes wide and startled, found himself on his back along the sofa, Tom hovering above him with a smirk.

"Bastard," Harry hissed petulantly, before dragging Tom down to resume the kiss. He smiled into the kiss, even as Harry nipped painfully at his lips, resuming their struggle.

It was not what would be traditionally be called a kiss. It was not soft, not sweet. Teeth bit, hair was yanked, hands were rough. With all his other partners, he knew they would have long ago submitted (or ran). They would lie pliant below him, shivering, wanton. Ready to allow him to do whatever he wanted, practically begging for further coercion. They were followers, sheep, giving up and following his lead. Nothing more than a way to relieve sexual tension and be done with. But with Harry...

Tom slid his tongue deep, curving it to brush that sensitive area at the top of his mouth, causing Harry to shudder. The sharp bite made him hiss, eyes fluttering slightly as Harry tugged hard on his hair. Harry smirked up at him, and Tom had to repress his own shudder, even though he was sure Harry had felt his erection twitch from where it pressed into his thigh. He narrowed his eyes, before renewing the assault on Harry's neck, pressing his hips very deliberately against Harry's. By Harry's gasping and the nails digging into his shoulders, he knew he was successful.

Tom didn't enjoy pain, neither of them did, despite Harry's alarmingly masochistic tendencies. It wasn't that which elevated Harry above the others. With Harry, he had to fight for every inch gained in this courtship. Each interaction was a struggle, a challenge. They were both alphas, leaders, even if Harry was so reluctantly, and neither was willing to concede defeat. To submit was unthinkable. This was a continuation of their regular interactions, the confrontations, the compromises, that intensity translated into the pursuit of mutual pleasure.

And it was absolutely delightful feeling Harry claim him back. He had always said they belonged to each other, but it was so rare whenever Harry reciprocated.

Harry tugged Tom's head to the side, away from his neck with a snarl, and then Harry was glaring at him, all fire and venom. He grinned, deliberate, gloating, daring Harry onwards.

He responded, surging up, not quite enough to flip them, but still unsettling Tom enough to get the upper hand. And then he was trailing nipping, biting kisses all down his neck and Tom temporarily forgot how to breathe. Until Harry settled at his pulse point and sucked, hard. Oh, but that was definitely going to leave a mark. He tightened his grip on Harry's upper arms enough to bruise, his eyes fluttered a little, but he did manage to transform the moan that wanted to come out into a single heavy breath.

That was still enough for Harry, who pressed the advantage, biting and worrying and sucking at the mark, placing more. Damn. Tom hated discovering new disadvantages, rare as they were, that Harry knew how to exploit, especially mid-confrontation when he had so little time to prepare a defence. Of course, right now his body thoroughly disagreed, even trying to expose more skin for Harry to mark. Another shift in their dynamic he knew Harry had noticed when he felt a smile against his neck. At this rate he'd lose, and that was just unacceptable.

Not that he wouldn't mind losing to Harry once or twice, or even many times in the future, but still, not the first time. That would just be weird.

Shifting, he pressed down on Harry with his hips again, which was enough of a distraction to escape Harry's ministrations. Harry growled at the shift, trying to make contact again before falling back with a laugh. The look he gave was entirely too playful, and Tom narrowed his eyes. It was difficult not to laugh himself.

"You really liked that didn't you?"

_Yes. _The bond between them was practically humming with pleasure and lust, and it was getting difficult to tell whom each belonged to, and what was merely a reflection.

Tom decided not to answer. At least not verbally. He captured Harry's mouth again, and the struggle began anew.

Hands working at Harry's shirt buttons, he exposed more skin, brushing his fingers down Harry's chest. Harry sighed, pressing up, one of his own hands slipping under Tom's shirt, nails scratching. Tom bit Harry's tongue in response, who hissed, and yanked at his hair.

Their eyes met, and suddenly it was a race, each trying to get the other's shirt off first.

Tom won, sort of.

Harry had been trying to completely remove Tom's shirt, and as a result, hadn't noticed exactly that Tom had unbuttoned Harry's. Tom, however, decided that as soon as flesh was revealed, the shirt was pretty much off, and began trailing kisses and bites down Harry's collarbone and sternum. So though Harry had done more, Tom won. At least for the moment.

His mouth was quick, his hands strong as he nipped at Harry's chest, soothing each bite with his tongue. Glancing up, he saw Harry's glazed eyes staring at the ceiling, his panting breath hitching each time Tom bit at a nipple. One hand trailed lower, undoing his trousers, and caressing aroused flesh. His eyes flew shut, and he released a whimper as his hips thrust up. Delicious.

Abruptly, Tom found himself being flipped. His eyes widened and he grabbed at Harry as he was rolled off the couch, landing on his back while Harry landed on his chest, winding him. Impulsive man. Although he did appreciate the hand Harry had gotten between his head and the floor. That would probably bruise. Harry was above him, straddling him, eyes still dazed, panting, cheeks flushed, _alluring_. It took Tom a moment to realise he was in a similar state. He _wanted_ Harry. Harry's expression had darkened to what most people would take as a warning. Tom took it as a promise.

Harry shifted.

"I am not doing this here."

"No?"

"No. Our first time will be in a bed, not some tussle on the living room floor." Tom found the rough tone of Harry's voice very…intriguing. He wondered for a second what it would be like to have Harry sound that way every day, which led predictably to thoughts of fucking Harry every day, which in turn reminded him of some very interesting fantasies_…_

But Tom managed to drag himself back to the conversation. Especially since beds had featured in at least a few of said fantasies.

"Our first time, you say."

Harry smirked.

"Call me a romantic." Tom raised an eyebrow at that, to which Harry merely shrugged.

"Of course, darling. Whatever you wish."

Harry grinned and began to get up. Tom caught his wrist, stilling him where he lay.

"I take it that means you've imagined our first time. And the next times too? You imagined us fucking?" His eyes widened, a blush staining his cheeks, visible even through his arousal. Harry's mouth opened to interrupt. "Making love, then? I take that to be a yes."

Harry glared, and pushed himself away, standing. Tom gazed up at him, making no move to sit up.

"Fuck you, Tom. I–"

"Did you?" Tom interrupted. Harry stumbled over his next words, gaping at Tom. "In your fantasies? You did, didn't you. You thought about fucking me, making me writhe and call out in pleasure beneath you."

He stretched languidly as he sat up, moving to stand. Harry stepped back, still gaping, but eyes now slightly glazed. Focusing on the empathetic bond he sent through a healthy dose of lust, feeling distinctly predatory at he saw Harry shiver.

"Or was it the other way around that left you trembling and gasping for more? Do you want me to fuck you?"

Harry's eyes were drifting, roaming across his form where he stood, seeming to rivet on the marks at his neck and intensify. He stalked closer, nearly grinning when Harry's shoulders hit the wall. He was completely fine with Harry wanting to do this in a bed, especially since they would have the rest of their lives to try all the other surfaces in their flat, but Harry was making it far too easy to tease him right now. They'd have to christen the living room wall another day. Or maybe later today. He wasn't fussy.

Tom was only inches away from Harry now, their bodies barely in contact. Harry's eyes were half lidded, and he was blinking a lot. His breathing was heavy. Tom leaned forwards until their lips barely brushed, both of them content to ignore their erections for a moment.

"Well? Do you?"

Harry blinked again, before pushing him away with a glare.

"Bastard!" he snarled, ducking away from the wall and Tom's arms. "Using the bond is cheating!"

"You expected fair?"

He stormed off towards Tom's bedroom, stopping at the doorway to glance over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, are you just going to stand there?"

Tom couldn't help it. He laughed. Harry rolled his eyes and stepped inside.

Still chuckling, he walked forwards, dropping the shirt that was only still on by one sleeve anyway. Harry's voice called out from the bedroom.

"And for your information, I've had fantasies of both, and almost every way. No thanks to you and your bloody teasing!"

And Tom was laughing again.

Entering the room he saw Harry removing his own shirt, tossing it to the floor, moving to work on his trousers. Tom paused to admire the view. Harry was pale, though his arms were tanned, with a dusting of dark hair trailing enticingly past the hem of his trousers.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Harry shirtless, of course, or stripping but this time there was a completely different meaning behind the gesture. That had been simply changing, but this…this felt aimed specifically at him. He moved to mirror Harry's actions.

"Some people say staring is rude," Harry spoke, hands by his hips, in nothing but boxers. Tom slowly trailed his eyes back up, making sure to linger on the bites he'd left on Harry's torso. He met Harry's eyes and smirked.

"These would be the same people who say you should marry Weasley the youngest and have a large brood of redheaded children?"

"Probably."

"I don't feel particularly inclined to listen to them. Apparently neither do you,"

Harry's eyes flicked back up from where they had been wandering across Tom's chest. He sat on the edge of Tom's bed, patting the spot besides him.

"Just…making plans,"

Tom felt it wise not to admit how much the thought of Harry's plans excited him.

Things fell into a pattern again, each trying to overwhelm the other while resisting their advances. Tom was winning, if only because Harry got frustrated more easily. They were both naked now, boxers having been lost sometime in between and now forgotten. Stretched out across the bed, trailing his mouth and hands all down Harry, recording sensitive areas for further study. Nuzzling up his lover's thigh, Harry let out what could only be called a whine when Tom stopped short of his erection. Tom looked up, amused, as Harry blushed and looked away. Not that you could tell with his cheeks already heavily flushed, but Tom could feel mortification seep through the emotion link. He grinned.

"Shut up, Tom." Harry hissed.

"I didn't say anything."

"I said shut up! You were putting your mouth to much better use earlier." Harry gave him a sharp glare at that.

"Oh. You mean like this?" He promptly enclosed the head in his mouth and sucked. Harry gave a cry, his head falling back, hips jerking at the rather sudden stimulation. He felt the embarrassment and indignation fade before the more immediate arousal.

"Oh, um, that's – that's not quite, hmm – not quite what I meant but – uh, s'pose it'll do."

"Are you sure?" Tom asked, being sure to twirl his tongue right against the head. "I wouldn't want you to be, ah, disappointed." He smirked up at Harry's trembling form.

"Ah! Yes, I mean – um – yeah, disappointment, don't want that."

Tom didn't answer, finding much more enjoyment in exploring Harry. Harry wouldn't allow him to stay in control for much longer without putting up a fight, some token resistance. Fortunately, he was at a disadvantage, another Harry was yet to discover was almost mutual. Neither of them were particularly used to pleasure, in the physical sense. Harry, because his cautious nature prevented him from getting that far with dates, and his growing up with the muggles. Tom, for his utter indifference towards dating and otherwise asexual manner, and his growing up in the orphanage. Touch had never been particularly positive for either of them.

Which meant resisting pleasurable touch was…difficult.

As Harry was finding.

Really, for someone who could take the cruciatus nearly every night and barely scream, Harry had no resistance at all to pleasure. So many sessions he could have won back then, had he known…

Harry was panting now, Tom noted. Flushed. His eyes would close for long blinks, one hand clutching the bedsheets as Tom sucked and licked. The other seemed to have found Tom's shoulder, and was gripping hard, nails digging in. Tom shivered. Wordlessly, he summoned a bottle of lubricant from the nearby cabinet, purchased not long after they started dating. Distracting Harry further and coaxing out a breathy moan, he coated his fingers, warming it up, before pressing his forefinger into Harry, up to the second joint. Harry barely seemed to notice, as thoroughly _distracted_ as he was, only giving a sigh and turning his head to the side.

And then he froze.

"Damn it, Tom, you bastard-"

Tom chose that moment to slide the rest of the way in, which caused Harry to gasp and throw back his head mid-complaint. Tom only smirked up at Harry's glare.

"I'll top, then?" he said, wiggling his finger around, searching for that one spot…

"I hate you. This feels bloody weird, you know."

"You're just not used to it."

"Used to it, hah. You're not the one with a bloody finger up your-" Harry yelped, hips rocking, his head falling back. Found it. Tom felt his smirk widen, running his finger back and forth.

"Better now?"

"What the hell is that?" Harry gasped out, still flexing his hips.

"You don't know? Tch, Harry, I thought you might have read up on having a male lover at some point since we started dating."

"S-shut up, you b-bloody bastard, oh!" Harry broke off with a moan when Tom pushed in a second finger, brushing his prostate again. Tom rested his chin on Harry's hip, content to watch his reactions for now. Each of Harry's movements, his moans, his half articulate speech, seemed to make Tom's blood boil further, hotter.

Want, want, want.

And now he could have.

As soon as he finished preparing Harry, naturally.

"It's called your prostate, Harry. A bundle of nerve endings. Very sensitive."

Harry whimpered, but his eyes met Tom's, scowling. Tom tried to look innocent, even as he added a third finger, stretching Harry further. Really, it didn't take much, before Harry was writhing at his fingertips. And he wasn't even touching Harry's cock. Absolutely no tolerance for pleasure.

Tom judged it about time to stop.

Harry shivered when he removed his fingers, eye flashing, not quite as far gone as his reactions might have suggested. Tom hovered over Harry's body, his own erection straining. Harry's mouth worked for a second, before he found words.

"Why'd you stop? I-I mean-"

Tom chuckled, silencing Harry with a kiss. Harry reciprocated, deepening the kiss and trying to outdo him, probably to make up for losing himself when Tom was stretching him. Harry buried a hand in Tom's hair, the other slipping around his shoulders, as Tom positioned himself.

They broke apart, Tom shifting a pillow beneath Harry's hips.

"Have you ever bottomed?" The question shouldn't have been completely unexpected, given their current positions. He thought Harry might have remained incoherent a little longer. But Harry's eyes were clear, sort of, focused on his own.

"You should already know the answer to that." It was rather obvious.

In response, Harry's eyes flashed, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. Message received and understood. _Challenge accepted._

Tom gave his own smirk.

"May I?"

Harry only rolled his eyes.

"Go ahead."

Slowly, he began to push inside.

And promptly thanked his own astounding level of self-control, since that was the only thing that kept him slow.

Fuck, but it was bloody glorious, being in Harry. His memories of sex were obviously flawed, or maybe he was just biased, because this was nothing like back then. Of course not, they weren't Harry. It couldn't compare. And shouldn't that kiss between them weeks ago have warned him?

Harry shifted his hips, lifting his legs to Tom's waist and Tom slid in further. All he could hear was heavy breathing, and his blood rushing in his ears. Flickers of pain, quickly overwhelmed by pleasure, filled the bond.

Pulling back, he slipped almost all the way out, and thrust back in. Oh, but that was even better, and Tom couldn't really help the groan that left his lips. Harry hummed in response, flexing his own hips.

It didn't take long to find a rhythm. They were kissing again, sort of, practically breathing into each other's mouths, tongues occasionally brushing.

Harry felt so good, so hot, tight around his shaft. Below him Harry was mewling, eyes squeezed shut, his breath heavy. Tom lowered his head to lick at the vibrant, sensitive marks on Harry's neck. He moaned, wrapping his legs higher around Tom's waist.

Tom's attention was focused solely on Harry. He didn't mind. His attention had often been focused solely on Harry from the moment they met. He found it more intriguing as to why they had never explored something like fucking each other before. Everyone had expected it for years, had seen the way they orbited one another. The passion had always been there, the intensity. But perhaps that was the problem. It would have burnt them to ashes, destroyed what they had. Harry would not have been able to deal with a sexual relationship between them with all the pressures he once faced. He hadn't been as strong then as he was now, not as sure of himself. Tom knew he would have wielded sex much as he would any power over Harry, and would never have truly regarded them as equals.

Harry thrust back, leaning up to bite at Tom's neck, and he promptly forgot about the past. His thoughts faltered under Harry's skilled mouth, nipping and sucking and stroking. They rocked together, Harry humming his pleasure as Tom thrust deep into him. Harry worried at the mark again, following a trail up to his ear lobe, which he proceeded to bite. Hard. Tom's moan came as much a surprise to himself as to Harry, who he felt freeze beneath him. He sensed more than saw the smirk adorning Harry's lips, mischievous energy practically bouncing down the link, and was not entirely taken aback when Harry once more tried to flip them.

A brief struggle ensued, made all the more difficult by the fact they were joined, causing both Tom and Harry to shudder in pleasure more than once. As they settled once more it was Tom who lay flat on his back, Harry straddling his cock. He looked up with feigned casualness, which he knew Harry saw through since they shared a fucking empathetic link. He leaned down, nearly nose to nose with Tom, still with that infuriating smirk on his face.

"Now, is it that I've found a – sensitive – spot?" He said with a wiggle of his hips, interior muscles clamping tight. Tom didn't answer, keeping his expression steady, though he couldn't prevent the reflexive gulp in response.

Harry snorted, sitting up and shifting his hips again with a hum. He planted his hands on Tom's pectorals, digging his nails in until he knew they would leave ten little red crescents across his chest. Tom blinked slowly, ignoring the fact that Harry was able to feel every hitch in his breath and how his heartbeat had nearly doubled in speed.

"Or is it – and I'm just speculating here – is it that you like it when I mark you?" _Yes! _At that remark Harry dragged his nails down his chest, catching his nipple with one of them. Tom shuddered, his head falling back with a gasp. And promptly cursed his libido when a traitorous little voice whispered that he could just lie there and let Harry explore. He glared up at Harry, who simply smirked back down, and rocked on the spot.

Slowly, Harry started shifting above him, lifting himself up and sinking back down, seemingly experimenting. Slow and deep, followed by fast and shallow. Tom really preferred the faster pace, but it seemed Harry didn't.

He waited.

Harry would probably relax soon, or forget himself in pleasure. That would be his chance to take control again.

Finding a rhythm, Harry began to fuck himself on Tom's cock, humming and sighing, hands pinning Tom to the bed. Not that Tom minded. Harry was making a rather interesting show. Actually he was having a bit of trouble looking away, even as he snuck his hands closer, towards Harry's hips.

Shifting, Harry seemed to freeze for a moment, gasping in pleasure, before repeating the motion, faster, giving out a low groan. Ah. So Harry must have discovered the right angle to hit his prostate…

Sliding a foot up for leverage, Tom thrust up. Harry cried out, surprised, eyes catching Tom's own, dazed, pleasure-drunk, and they were moving in time, thrusting against one another. Hard to focus with Harry moving like that…It took a moment to realise his own groan was echoing Harry's. Harry grinned for a second, speeding up.

Tom gripped Harry's hips, helping lift him higher, tugging them closer. Harry moaned, and reacted, digging his own nails into Tom's shoulder, and Tom hissed, jerking. Laughing, Harry threw his head back, still grinding and rocking.

This wasn't either of them in full control. Harry was on top, even though he was bottoming. It was simple now, both working towards pleasure, all the details had been worked out.

Harry was leaning back, powerful thighs lifting him again and again, as Tom's hands slid up to his waist, brushing over sensitive skin.

Tom sat up suddenly and Harry cried out, his head thrown back, as he slipped onto his lap. He thrust up, penetrating deeper from the new angle. Harry's head lolled back and it seemed like just one continuous moan fell from his lips. He lunged forwards, nibbling once more on Harry's neck.

At some point they had stopped competing for dominance, Tom noticed absently, working now only towards their mutual release. Harry bounced on his lap, in time with Tom's thrusts, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, holding them close. One hand tangled in his hair, bringing them into a messy kiss that seemed to be all tongue and panting and teeth, but still not as sharp as their earlier exchanges.

But that was fine, because this was Harry, Harry who moaned so prettily, responded so beautifully beneath his hands. Harry who drew groans from his own mouth, grabbing at his hair as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. Harry, his equal, his friend, his rival. Harry, his lover. His head fell forwards onto Tom's shoulder, letting out a keening noise, and they were moving together. He felt the arousal, affection, pleasure, trembling back and forth along the link, amplified and reflected again and again. It was like drowning, caught in an undertow, sweeping him around and over and it was too much, it felt too much but it was fine because Harry was here and caught up too, and he knew they were invincible together. Different but complimentary, and spinning, always spinning around each other like binaries.

And suddenly they were falling, because it couldn't last and the dam had broken and he was vaguely aware of Harry shouting his name, and felt Harry's slip from his lips but he didn't really care at the moment.

The orgasm rolled back and forth along the link, drawing softer sounds from both of them well afterwards. Tom blinked, and lazily began to take stock of the situation. Harry was still sat on his cock, internal muscles still occasionally spasming, his head resting on Tom's shoulder.

"Fuuuck." Harry's voice was low, rougher than normal. Tom decided he liked it that way.

"Again, so soon? Well, if you insist…,"

"Mmm. Shut up Tom." The tone was indulgent. Harry proceeded to bury his head in the crook of Tom's neck.

Post coital affection, Tom noted. Now that_ was_ something he had expected with Harry. It was, well, nice. Nearly uncomfortable, but not quite, warm. Sentimental.

He lay back, hauling Harry down with him, who shifted, rolling onto his back.

They stared at the ceiling together, heart rates slowing, close enough to share body heat but not quite touching. Which was wrong.

Grabbing Harry's shoulder, he tugged him closer. Harry started, before grinning and rearranging himself much closer, practically sprawling against Tom's side. Better, where he should be. Tom smirked, turning to bury his face in Harry's hair, which actually looked no messier than ever, oddly enough. One arm encircled Harry's shoulders, pinning him.

He wasn't being…cuddly, just he couldn't trust Harry not to suddenly remember something supposedly vital and try to leave…or something. Harry settled closer, sighing, his own arm moving to Tom's waist, fingers tracing patterns on his skin.

Right. He could at least try and make his excuses to himself plausible.

...Maybe Harry wasn't the only one with mawkish desires after sex.

"Think I'm going to take a nap." Harry murmured sleepily.

"Go ahead, darling. I'll still be here when you wake up." He was definitely more mushy than normal. Although a nap didn't sound too bad…

Harry hummed, already half asleep. And more than a little clingy.

Tom decided he was fine with that.

* * *

"Are you a vampire or something, Tom?" Harry said feeling the tender marks on his neck. "There must be at least half a dozen on my neck alone."

Tom only scoffed.

"Speak for yourself, sweetheart, I'm practically a walking bruise, you left so many bites. I thought I was the sadist out of us."

Harry grinned over at Tom, who was currently buttoning his shirt.

"Well, you reacted so prettily whenever I bit you I could barely resist."

"You do know purple is not my natural skin tone?"

"Do you want it to be?"

Tom paused to shoot him a glare, which Harry read as "Yes please, but I'll never admit how much I like being marked by you aloud without some serious coercion," and decided try as soon as they weren't about to be late for a desperately important charity dance event at which they'd drum up financial and political support for their party in the run-up to elections.

Tom's fetish for being marked had apparently been a surprise to both of them, and Tom had yet to develop any real defence against it, something Harry had taken full advantage of the second time round, biting, sucking and scratching his way to dominance. Tom had been equal parts annoyed and aroused by the strategy, following almost every moan with a glare. Especially after he'd used a sticking charm on Tom's hands so he couldn't move them from the headboard.

At one point he'd actually broken down in laughter, unable to keep a straight face when Tom had hissed "Harry, you've dallied long enough with preparation, just fuck me already," and immediately been cut off by a moan. Having enough material to tease Tom into the next century wasn't bad either.

""Oh Harry, just there, yes, like that. Please!"" It wasn't a bad mimicry, if he did say so himself. Tom only glowered for a second.

"Excuse me, but who was it that screamed my name? Both times?" Harry's turn to glare.

"Who was so turned on by being bitten he could barely move?"

"Who stopped fighting to top as soon as I gave his dick a lick?"

"Bite fetish."

"Incorrect. I have a Harry fetish."

"…what?"

Tom adjusted his tie one last time, before pulling on his robe and fastening it. Harry turned to do the same, a quick glance at the clock confirming that time had not slowed down or stopped, and they really had to leave within the next two minutes. So he was surprised to feel Tom's hands on his shoulders, holding him still.

"Fetish; a form of sexual desire in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, item of clothing, part of the body, etc. You don't think I would have noticed if I had a bite fetish long ago? My experiments were thorough."

Harry ignored the brief twinge in his stomach at the mention of Tom's other lovers, however long ago. Tom was his now, he reminded himself.

Tom leaned forwards, his breath tickling the hairs near Harry's ear. One arm slid around his chest, holding him still. He rolled his eyes. As if he was trying to move away.

"So, it follows, doesn't it? If it isn't the action of biting," and here Tom chose to demonstrate on Harry's earlobe. "Then it must be the person doing the biting. Hence, Harry fetish."

Harry swallowed, turning in Tom's arms. This really wasn't the time.

"That was almost sentimental, Tom."

The kiss, when it happened, was slower than normal but no less searing. And when Tom flicked his tongue along the roof of Harry's mouth, he was quite ready just to forget the whole dance and make good on that promise to turn Tom's skin purple.

Which would require Tom.

Who was currently a few feet away and walking towards the door. He frowned.

"Come on, darling, we're about to be late. Don't just stand there panting." Tom smirked, trailing his eyes up and down Harry's figure. "Do you need a moment to fix your robes?" he questioned innocently.

"Tom, you bastard tease! Get out!"

Tom only laughed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

In the end they did make it on time, if only because Tom had adjusted the clocks to be five minutes ahead without telling him.

Harry sighed, mentally psyching himself up for the rest of the evening. It was going to be one of those events he hated, all small talk and manoeuvring and being highly polite. He'd have to be talking all evening, making nice with people who personally disgusted him, all power hungry politicians and the like. Not that they were any better, him and Tom. But Harry knew he wouldn't be anywhere near this dance if Tom wasn't so ambitious. Minister by thirty? Try twenty five. By thirty Tom would probably be leader of the European Wizards Contingent and well on the way to world domination. And Harry would be by his side, if only to protect the poor unsuspecting public.

And that was ignoring the fact that this was a dance. As in, he'd actually have to dance.

He glared at Tom for good measure. In a few seconds they'd be in front of the press, it would be his last chance for hours.

Cameras flashed, and he was grinning alongside Tom. The Boy Who Lived and the Slytherin Prince, leaders of a new movement. Now confirmed as a couple.

They turned, as if they'd rehearsed, shared a kiss. Barely a peck, but the cameras went wild.

As they entered the ballroom, the press still snapping photos, looking out over the sea of predatory faces, Harry felt himself groan inwardly behind his mask of congeniality.

Tom leaned over to murmur in his ear, still smiling at the crowd.

"First to reach fifty sponsors tops when we get home."

Harry's eyes widened, jerking to Tom who only smirked back.

"Political or monetary?"

Tom only raised an eyebrow, giving him an 'are you being purposely thick?' look. So, both then.

Harry glowered, sticking out his hand.

"Deal." He agreed. They shook, before turning to the room at large.

Fifty sponsors? He was the Boy Who Lived.

Piece of cake.


End file.
